


Fragments

by ghee (sabakunoghee)



Series: A Better Place for You and Me 🌸 [3]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Side Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabakunoghee/pseuds/ghee
Summary: When he found out that Blake was drunk, Schofield almost booked a train ticket to Essex right away. Specifically when he heard another man’s voice called him ‘Tommy’.or,Extra chapters of 2017.200ish-words style of tooth-rooting fluff.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: A Better Place for You and Me 🌸 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669978
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	1. Worried; 5th chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Side stories, and/or things I should've put in my work titled [2017](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663696/chapters/54168919) but I simply forgot, written in the classic 200ish-words style. Quite random and perhaps you should read my previous work first to enjoy this one. Literally don't mind me since I'm here to unleash these AU headcanons.
> 
> Also: I didn't think 2017 would receive this much love, support, and appreciation. Thank you for leaving your kudos, comments, for accompanying me on Twitter, it really means a lot. Pardon me for English is not my first language but I did try my best.

When he found out that Blake was drunk, Schofield almost booked a train ticket to Essex right away. Specifically when he heard another man’s voice called _him_ ‘Tommy’.

The sky was already dark but he could reach Fenchurch Street in fifteen minutes. Ten, perhaps, if he ran all the way down to the station; he always was an excellent sprinter, to begin with. Schofield’s voice was about to raise, a tone higher, but Blake changed the voice call into a video call. There went two seconds of hesitation before Schofield finally pushed the ‘accept’ button and gasped when _that_ face appeared on his phone screen.

/ “Sorry, my stupid brother just passed out,” /

Schofield was startled for a moment. No matter how many times he recalled Blake’s description about him, to see this man again after century still gave him heartache. Joseph Blake never failed to remind him of the April 7th and that wasn’t... _nice_.

/ “Excuse me, you’re there?” /

“Yes, I’m still here,” struggled to keep his voice steady, Schofield replied, a cracked smile on his face, “You must be Tom’s big brother. My name is Schofield and I’m a friend of Tom,” _just like you, a little older_ , “Could you please tell Tom I’ll visit him tomorrow?”


	2. Toothbrush; epilogue

It was started by a toothbrush.

Blake left the oral hygiene instrument after he spent a night with Schofield at his café; they binge-watched several Oscar-winning movies together, wrapped themselves in a thick blanket, a big bowl of caramel popcorn Blake clumsily made. He excused himself early in the morning to submit his printed drafts to Leslie, but _hell_ , the meeting went longer than Blake expected. He stopped by a convenient store to buy a towel, knocked on the coffee shop’s door and grinned at huffing Schofield. Blake (selfishly) decided to stay for another night, after having a quick shower and slept on the wall-side of Schofield’s queen-sized bed.

This time, he left his towel on the hanging rack.

A day after, a jacket. Followed by a travel-sized bathroom amenities, an extra phone charger, a pile of unfinished documents, and the next thing Schofield knew, his bedroom was no longer _his_. It slowly but surely transformed into _theirs_. Blake even brought his own pillow and placed them on the far side of the mattress.

“What now?” Schofield asked, staring at the shopping bag.

“A succulent, to cheer up _our_ bedroom,” Blake innocently replied, “And a scented candle.”

Sometimes, Schofield wished Blake could be a bit more romantic and let him _properly_ asked if he’d love to move in together – but turned out that wasn’t even necessary.


	3. Ring; 5th chapter

Schofield was never a religious person.

Ironically, he possessed a strong attachment to the concept of reincarnation. Schofield thought he was insane before he eventually met Blake. Being haunted by the same nightmares over and over again for two decades could do that to a man.

Now that they’d talked about their past, he’d convinced himself that he _wanted_ to start things over and it was his upcoming goal to ask Blake whether he would fancy the idea. Schofield had planned his trip to Blake’s hometown, brought a _thing_ that connected their souls.

 _The ring_.

He slid open the display window where he stored the war-mementos, pulled out a tin container, and lifted a golden ring out from the rusty box. It was Blake’s. _He took them from his lifeless hand_. Schofield smiled as he recalled _his_ hand; fingers shorter but thicker than his, proficient in digging and farming but not pulling the trigger, soft and warm in his embrace. The ring Blake wore on his little finger fitted Schofield’s ring finger and it made him chuckled, just realized how skinny and long his fingers were – and how he missed Blake’s wrapped his, fulfilling the gaps between them.

He believed the ring would either bring them back together or cut loose everything they ever had.

Schofield hoped it wouldn’t be the second.


	4. Mother; 5th chapter

“How can I help you?”

Her voice. Her hair. Her dress.

Everything about Mrs. Blake who was standing before him left Schofield wordless. For twenty-two years, they exchanged letters, wrote too much on how they mutually missed Thomas, but not even for once Schofield had the courage to visit her, to physically talk to her. He always imagined that Mrs. Blake was a gentle old lady, with mellow eyes and dark hair she’d keep tide up in a bun. However, the woman who just opened the door was – lively, her short, brown hair was turning grey but her blue eyes flickered in joy and contentment. She wore a white dress, knee-length, a soft-hued apron wrapped her slender figure. The scent of pastry and cherries immediately filled him up with the sweet smell of baking.

Lines and wrinkles on her face didn’t negate the beauty she doubtlessly possessed in her younger days. It still lingered, if Schofield might say, her doe eyes and the sincerity of her radiant smile—

“I’m looking for your son, Thomas,” Schofield finally spoke, “I’ve told him I’m coming.”

Mrs. Blake raised an eyebrow, “And, you are?”

“Schofield, William Schofield.”

When she reached his extended hand for a handshake, it almost felt like vomiting flowers.

Schofield was _this_ close to calling her, ‘Mother’.


	5. Dawn; epilogue

Blake wasn’t a morning person.

Schofield was always the one who abandoned the bed first, brewing two cups of coffee, reheating the leftovers from last night’s dinner; all things but waking his lover up.

But there were times like this when the younger man was awakened when the sky was still dark.

It was around five in the morning when Blake opened his eyes, the back of his head was leaning against Schofield’s bare pectoral, his soft breath was warm caressing his neck. His slumber was dreamless and deep, pitch-black and felt like only two seconds apart from the time he closed his eyes – Blake swore never in his life he felt this well-rested. Perhaps, this is the result of finally declaring his longing he had for years. To finally accept that he _loved_ Schofield then and now changed him a lot; he appreciated _time_ a little bit more, treasured every _touch_ they shared, valued _togetherness_ more than anything.

Blake slowly turned around, kept his motion and sound to the minimum, he wanted to watch Schofield’s sleeping face. His fingers hovered; tracing _his_ strong jawline, _his_ high cheekbones, _his_ long lashes. He sighed, almost cried, before sinking his face on the ups-and-downs of Schofield’s breathing chest.

They were _here_ , alive.

Never did Blake feel this grateful to be _reborn_.


	6. Myrtle; epilogue

“I miss Myrtle.”

Schofield was cleaning the portafilter when Blake whined about it, and it really wasn’t the first.

Since they decided to live together – more precisely, Blake being himself, having zero sense of personal boundaries and invaded Schofield’s privacy, just like that – life was more colorful for the barista. Literally and figuratively. Blake planted sunflowers in front of the coffee shop, replaced the boring green vines with morning glory; even the food warmer was getting more vibrant with cherry pies and apricot bread, both were freshly baked by his mother. When he didn’t have deadlines, Blake helped Schofield roasting the beans, chirping him stories for solid ten minutes with a ladle in his hand.

And now, he was trying to have a puppy.

“Shall we go to the animal shelter, then?” Schofield asked while walking to the entrance to flip the signage.

“That’s not how it works,” Blake unexpectedly shook his head, frowning, “Myrtle wasn’t adopted. She came to our house like an angel sent from above, a miracle disguised as a lovely dog, she was just…” he sighed, chin propping, “I missed her wagging tails and excitement barking when we played fetch.”

Schofield froze as he found a small puppy in a box laid on his front door.

“Uh, Tom?”

_I think Myrtle comes home._


End file.
